Here's to You
by romeocitychicag
Summary: The Patriots are no more. Dave and Hal no longer have to fight. But sentiments are still left unsaid, and are yet to be revealed.


Here's to You

The only thing visible to Hal in the darkness outside was a sea of white.

Even after everything he'd been through, Dave insisted on going back to living in Alaska. He'd always preferred the cold; he liked to have an excuse to always stay inside and never wear clothing that exposed any of his marred skin. Hal, stubbornly sticking to his vow to see out the rest of his friend's life, loyally followed him to the tundra.

The town at the base of the mountains came into view as the pair walked farther. It was late at night; the quaint houses almost looked abandoned with the lack of light shining through from their windows. Hal and Dave's own abode wasn't too far, but still resided on the outskirts of the village, hidden in a forest of pine trees. One could argue that they lived like the mythical monsters in fairy tales; isolated from the rest of society in their own lair, and only spoken of in the hushed whispers of the denizens next door. It was only fitting for beasts like them.

The sound of their steps transitioned from the crunching of snow to the satisfying clack of cobblestone. Visibility improved when they came near a lone street light illuminating a bench outside of a shop closed up for the night. The sign for the shop hanging above it swayed in the gentle wind, spreading its accumulated snowflakes through the air.

This had become a nightly routine for them: Before the two turned in for the night, they would take a walk through the nearby town. It was an old habit that stuck around from their days in Philanthropy; they would always take a walk together before completing any anti-Metal Gear or anti-Patriot actions. Sometimes they would talk, with the both of them pouring out details about their lives the other had no chance to figure out before. Other times were just silent contemplation, neither of them even making eye contact. It didn't matter to Hal, then or now; the walks got Dave out of the house and into the rest of the world, even if it was only when nobody was around.

For the first time, their relationship wasn't clouded by business; they could get to know each other like regular friends. To Hal, "Solid Snake" no longer existed. His individuality was free from the burden of being a mindless weapon. He was now simply Dave, a fully living and breathing human being with his own likes, dislikes, eccentricities, hopes, and dreams for the future.

"Ota-" Dave cleared his throat. "I mean, Hal."

"You're never going to stop doing that, are you?" Hal chuckled.

He gave a sideways smirk, but never took his eyes off of the light. "Can we sit down now?"

Hal almost cringed at his request. "Yeah. Sure thing."

For someone so meek, it was incredibly jarring to be put in charge of a relationship. Back when he was in better health, it was Dave who would usually be in the field, calling the shots on their activities. Hal imagined this is what adult children entrusted to care for their elderly parents felt like. The request made perfect sense, though; Dave's joints and muscles were so shredded from all of the years of combat, it was almost a struggle for him to move at all.

Hal brushed the snow off of the bench, then helped gently lower Dave into his seat. The two at least had the sense to bundle up for the weather, as the bench felt very cold and wet, even under their many layers of clothing.

No words were spoken at first. Hal listened to his friend softly groan as he tried to get comfortable. Dave didn't enjoy too much pity, so the other gazed up at the cloudy sky until he was ready to speak again.

"Is this it?"

"What?"

"Um," Dave stared down into his lap. "I mean, civilian life. A normal life."

The words rolled around in Hal's brain, searching for an appropriate response. "Well, it's more than just going for midnight walks..."

"It's almost boring." Dave chuckled. "I hate to say it, but how do people stand this?"

Hal sighed. "Couldn't tell you that one..."

The two fell into silence again. They both absently stared at the empty street, purposefully trying to tune out each others' presence.

Hal's thoughts wandered back to Dave's last statement. After everything they've been through, since joining up with "Snake" and forming Philanthropy, he realized just how divorced he was from his former life. The old Hal Emmerich and the new "Otacon" felt like completely different people.

When he thought back to those days, he was on the outside looking in; an incredibly awkward and anxious engineer bouncing between companies and organizations, slaving away at whatever project he was tasked with, all the while nursing his fantasies of creating awesome bipedal robots from anime (something he watched religiously to numb the tedium). His old self resembled a mottled shed skin of a nameless reptile.

When the Shadow Moses Incident struck, his naive worldview, pristine as freshly cleaned glass, shattered. The legendary Solid Snake rescued his pathetic skin from the cyborg ninja and allowed him under his wing afterwards. If the rose-colored glasses weren't snapped in half after that, they certainly were after the death of the only joy in his life at the time, Sniper Wolf. He winced at the thought.

_"What was she fighting for?" he cried over the hissing wind. "What am I fighting for? What are you fighting for, Snake?"_

_The howling of the wolves rose to a fever pitch. "If we make it through this, I'll tell you."_

Life afterwards was anything but tedious; He first fled to England to confide in relatives he hadn't seen since childhood. It didn't provide solace; it served as a hiding spot. He resided in the country for almost a year, attempting to evade both federal prosecution and his own reality. He seemed to be hoping that if he stayed away long enough, things would go back to normal. He was hoping he could shove that ugly memory behind him and return to the safe fold of nameless citizens just doing their jobs.

The cognitive dissonance ate away at him his entire stay. Nobody around him could understand what he was going through, how his life was falling apart at the seams. One night, he snapped. He booked the next flight back to America to find Snake, sweating and shaking the entire journey. After a lengthy search, they founded Philanthropy together, and the rest is history.

Hal's work was now dedicated to cleaning up the mess his creations made, to picking up the pieces and attempting to construct a new whole. He couldn't allow himself to focus on anything else. He owed it not only to himself, but to Dave. He still reflected on his relationship with the now ex-soldier with awe and gratitude. Hal couldn't help but wonder how different his life would have been without Dave's intervention.

"What are you thinking about?" Dave croaked. He wasn't even looking at Hal.

"Everything." There was no reason for secrecy anymore; Dave had too little time, and they were both far too tired. "Everything that you've done for me."

Dave snorted. "The only thing I did was drag you into a huge mess."

"I dragged myself in the second I created REX." When Hal looked up to meet Dave's eyes, he finally reciprocated. "I would have never made up for it if it wasn't for your wake-up call."

The older male simply shrugged his shoulders and turned away again. "You chose to do that yourself. I didn't 'wake you up' to anything."

At times like this, Hal found his friend's modesty to be incredibly frustrating. His appreciation always seemed to fall on deaf ears. "I see you still haven't learned how to take a compliment," he playfully jabbed.

The small smirk returned. "_Thank you._"

"Close enough."

The two shared a laugh.

"Have you heard from Sunny?" Dave asked.

"She's still doing well at Solis." It seemed like years ago when Hal secured a job for her there; in reality, only about a month had passed since her departure.

"That's good."

What more was there to say? Dave knew that if he pried any further, it would only trigger a cascade of over bloated worries endemic to fathers towards their daughters: What if she was in trouble? What if she was being hurt or attacked by some awful man, and he wasn't there to save her? Are the men in her workplace being nice to her? Surely, they aren't mistreating his little girl, right? While most of the problems are mediated nowadays, with all of the violence and discrimination against women still perpetuated by men, having a daughter could easily turn anyone into a misandrist.

Hal (or Dave, as a matter of fact) didn't expect himself to become so paternalistic towards a child he really had no obligation to raise. But nobody else would take on the role, and he supposed it came with the territory. Neither of them could help but have nagging concerns about Sunny in the back of their heads at all times.

There was nothing else they could do, though; they had to let her be independent, to spread her wings and fly. The conversation was dropped.

Hal chose to look at Dave again. It didn't matter what position he was in, he always seemed to be constantly fidgeting. To his aged and broken body, every surface probably felt like sandpaper. Hal doubted the hard bench seat was doing him any favors, either. They both knew they were coming here; maybe one of them should have brought a cushion. Dave would have most likely rejected such a ploy to baby him, though.

Watching his struggling friend caused Hal's throat to tighten. Tears pricked at his eyes. The sight was a grim reminder of how close Dave's end was. He would be lucky to last a year, and a few months had already flew by. Hal couldn't imagine what it was like to have Death stalking you every moment; to wake up each morning, surprised that you're still alive. None of it seemed to scare Dave. He was probably used to it from years of risking his life on the battlefield. He was an expert on living in the moment; he never knew if his next moment would be his last.

After spending so much time with Dave, Hal recognized the truth: it was the same for everybody. Life is taken for granted; anybody could die at any instant, and Death doesn't discriminate. He'd learned that lesson too many times: a shot to the head, a fatal stab wound. It didn't matter.

But, as life was easy to take away, it was also paradoxically difficult. He was sitting next to living proof of that. A bullet wound a few centimeters over and he would have been gone. He threw himself into the line of fire more than anyone and survived. The more mystically inclined would call it a miracle.

Solid Snake truly made the impossible possible. Hal couldn't waste this opportunity, this _gift_ of more time with Dave. He recalled a forgotten promise:

"_If we make it through this, I'll tell you." _

"Hey, Snake," Hal began. He took a breath to loosen his throat. "You never did tell me."

Dave shot him a quizzical look.

"What you were fighting for."

The memory dawned on him. He seemed to ponder it for a few moments. A coy smile spread across his face. "I guess Meryl was right."

"Right about what?"

"I did fight for the people." Hal said nothing, urging him to elaborate. Dave gestured to the houses in front of them. "They didn't cause this. They shouldn't have to pay the price for what we did. You know that too."

"...Yeah." A gust of wind sent the powdery snow at their feet flying. The pair could hear the shop sign creaking behind them.

Dave remained as stoic as ever, even though he was probably chilled to the bone (it really wasn't good for him to be out in this weather). Instead of succumbing to the cold, he patted around one of the pockets on his jacket. He stuck his hand inside, pulled something out, and quickly tossed it into Hal's lap.

"What's this?" Hal asked. He examined the object in the street light: a simple white letter.

"Just...read it, okay?" He shifted his entire body away from the younger male and coughed into his clenched fist.

Hal glanced at Dave before cautiously tearing open the letter. The soldier's handwriting was much neater than his usual careless scrawl; he must have really taken his time with this one.

_Hal,_

_All of these years with you has been more than I could have ever hoped to have. It's rare for me to have somebody I can call a friend for this long. You didn't have to come and join me, or stay this long, but you did. I can't thank you enough for that. I never would have accomplished what I did if it wasn't for you. _

_I didn't deserve anything you did for me. I didn't deserve anything anyone did for me. I'm a soldier; an old killer. For me, friendship was a privilege that vanished as soon as bullets started flying. Anyone I ever cared about is either dead or in prison. I'm happy that I was able to protect you from either of those fates. It was something I fought for, and at least one thing I did right in this life. _

_I wish you and the next generation the best. I won't be around to see it. _

Hal's tears threatened to spill onto the paper. He wiped them away from his face and delicately folded the paper back into its envelope. As he slipped the letter into his pocket, he sniffled much louder than he intended to. He saw Dave grimace.

Hal reached out and placed his hand onto Dave's shoulder. When he made no move, the other wrapped his arm around his back, then brought in his other limb. He felt no resistance, so Hal embraced his friend in a hug.

From over his shoulder, Hal peeked up at the sky. The clouds had cleared. Twinkling white stars peered down at them from above, angels ready to give a warm welcome to the newest among their ranks.


End file.
